


See Me

by StrandsofNehn



Series: For the Love of SJM [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, Nesta has Wings, Sweetness, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrandsofNehn/pseuds/StrandsofNehn
Summary: Nesta has wings, too. Set after ACOWAR





	See Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after being inspired by this on tumblr. It went on from there. Let me know what you think!

Nesta likes the symbolism of them both being in leathers. Of shedding their armor, soft and slow. So different than the frenzy of just a few minutes before.

Cassian didn’t wear a shirt to start with but she contents herself with tugging the leather tie out of his hair, with the way it falls in deep brown clumps and strands. Still sweaty.

“Do you ever bathe?” she asks him.

“Only when I’m expecting something like this to happen.” Cassian gives her a broad, teasing smirk, “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t an army commander be prepared for anything?”

“Are you suggesting there is a way to anticipate the great Nesta Archeron?”

She smirks and before she can retort, his hands come to the fastenings at the neck of her armor and slowly toy at the fastenings.

“I know we said that we were going to do this, but do you still want to, Nesta?”

“I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

She means it, and the deep _knowing_ of the fact Cassian will stop the moment she says so is a greater comfort than him saying it again.

Although, it doesn’t stop him and it doesn’t hurt: “And I’ll stop. Doesn’t matter how deep into the proceedings we’ve gotten.”

Nesta snorts, “Such a way with words.”

“It’s a gift.”

“You should return it to someone more suited.”

“I’m giving them to you, aren’t I?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh, plea–”

“Don’t you have something you should be doing?” She asks, eyebrow raised and a smile on her lips.

It’s easy to smile with him, she’s realized. It’s a thought that no longer scares her.

He smiles brilliantly back at her. Kisses her lips once more and turns her with a gentle hand, “I sure do.”

He can’t seem to stop kissing her, though, and his lips press to her cheek before he starts anew.

Nesta decides that she won’t fidget or tense, but it’s an urge she has to suppress.

The armor droops down and with gentle hands— hands that have killed and bled and upheld and punished— brush the leather from her shoulders and still. And she remembers: 

 _“I will find you... in the next life.”_  His vow to her. “ _And we will have that time.”_

It’s a vow he’s kept.  

His calloused fingertips brush along the lines of black ink on her back. There’s such tenderness in the touch. Down and all the way to her pantline and up, tracing the soft arcs and back to in between her shoulderblades.

“You have wings.”

“I do.”

“ _Illyrian_ wings,” he rasps, voice breaking on the word.

“Yes.”

“They’re beautiful. Nesta, they’re beautiful.” He clears his throat, “Why did you–?”

Why indeed. She asked herself the same thing when she stood in her sister’s cabin. Painted with the images and people her Feyre loved most in the world.

They visited after the war, Nesta and her sisters. Elain wanted them to reconnect and Nesta could never refuse her. Feyre hadn’t either. They only stayed two days, a weekend. Long enough a time away from their duties, Nesta was still Emissary, her sister still High Lady and Elain had taken to training her powers, which required an exuberant amount of time.

Though she had fought with Feyre both days, Nesta valued the time she had with her sisters. There was not any alive that Nesta loved more fiercely than her sisters.

Save, perhaps, for one.

And that was the thought that struck her, standing in the living room of the mountain cabin, staring at a pair of Illyrian wings over the fireplace.

She thought of Cassian, and her sisters, chatting behind her as Feyre painted their eyes next to her other family’s. She thought of what they meant, those wings. Of Cassian brushing a tear from her cheek. Of him crawling towards her as she was forced into darkness. Of him swearing to kill whoever had hurt her. Of Azriel coming back with her stolen sister _and_  a human girl in his arms. Of Feyre flying with her mate. Of Rhysand when he took away that abuser’s voice.

And she realized, looking at those wings, that what she was thinking of was her family.

Even those who didn’t have wings, Amren who narrows her eyes and threatens Cassian’s manhood even more than Nesta did, Morrigan who tenses and scowls at the Illyrian camps. Of Elain who blushes and tries not to stare, who still tries to be polite, even now. She thinks of her family, all men and women of strength and bravery. Of integrity and loyalty.

And then she thinks of those girls whose wings are clipped and cannot fly. Of how they are treated like breeding stock and Nothing. Of the injustice.

Nesta feels many, many things looking at that wall. At those wings.

So, she gets the tattoo.

So, she asks Rhysand what she can do for the girls.

So, she does it. Commits herself to it. 

Nesta makes her scream for justice on the skin of her body to echo in the silence of too many thoughts and too many feelings. Like the roar of the ocean. A declaration of a strength that only flightless wings can express.

“I am free. I am powerful.”

The words are strong and they resonate in the room, in her heart, in Cassian’s. In his quiet breath and soft finger at the clawed tip of a wing on her back.

Eventually he swallows and with a laugh says:

“No truer words, Nes.”

“Maybe not,” she allows and looks at him over her shoulder, “but these are at least the same.”

Cassian cocks his head and listens. Waits. Still beautiful. Still maddening. Still _dangerous._ But she welcomes it now. Welcomes _him._ Muscles poised and eyes cutting, strength and intellect. Match and match for her own. Gods, she relishes in the feeling. Of being matched. Of being _equal._

She’ll tell him the whole story, someday, but right now what they have is enough, means enough. Right now…

She turns completely, bare from her waist up. Her heart naked. He doesn’t waver from her gaze, doesn't shy from the intensity of her. His eyes are expectant, ready. Warm and hazel and lovely.

“I am grateful to have met you," she says, "I don’t think I would like who I’d be had I not. So, thank you. For provoking me, for being an actual challenge,” she smirks. “On occasion, at least.”

Cassian returns the smirk, “Happy to present you with stimulation.”

Nesta pops an eyebrow and drawls, “Should I commend you on rising to meet me? Or is that premature?”

He tucks a finger under her chin, more for the contact than anything. Nesta hasn’t let her eyes move from his. She will not break first.

He can surely hear her thundering heart, just as she can hear his.

She can almost taste him. Mountain mist and sweat. The untamed wild where he was raised, the sea and sky of his home. Of hers.

She wonders if she still smells like the depths of the Cauldron, like timeless, ancient power and stardust. The sea. Chaotic and unconquerable.

“Again with that tongue, Nes.” But he’s smiling, the traditional smirk lingers at its edges, and genuine affection pools in his eyes. “Would you rob me of the opportunity to match your confession?”

His word choice settles her lips in a half grin and she moves his hand to cup her face, rests her own on his chest. He’s too tall for them to rest on his shoulders.

“I would never rob you of the opportunity to _try.”_

He pulls up her hand, kisses her palm. “You woke me up, Nesta.”

His eyes are shining, and she understands already. She felt the same way.

“I know I am not perfect, and you hardly are, either, but I thank the Mother everyday for you. I’ve never been more terrified or grateful for anything in six-hundred years than when you refused to leave. You would lay down your life for me, hardly even knowing me, just so I would not be alone. Because you couldn’t leave me just as much as I couldn’t stay away from you.”

He caresses her face and looks at her like she may indeed be a Mother-blessed angel and witch.

“I couldn’t thank the Mother enough for you even if you hadn’t done it, Nesta. You’ve always seen me as someone _more_ than just a bastard Illyrian.” He exhales. “ _You_ _see me_.”

Of course she does. She always has. She would not have treated him so harshly, so pointedly, if she had not.

_Dangerous._

It had been her word for him, because he was a warrior and could end her before her heart could utter another beat, yes, but also because _he_ _saw her, too._ The layers of fire and ice did not deter him. Did not misdirect his gaze, distract, maybe, but never saved her from the keenness of his eyes. 

Cassian knew Nesta better than she knew herself for a long time. 

Perhaps, the reverse is true, too. 

“I needed someone who challenged the male I projected for all my family and you did,” he continues. “You do. I never felt more like myself as I do now. Never more valued or honored, and sweetheart, _Nesta…_ You have my unending gratitude for that.”

Nesta’s eyes are blazing like the fire of dawn on the sea. Down are the walls of ice and rage and wrath, down are the barbs and poison. She is herself. Herself who is in awe of the person in front of her.

Maybe Nesta has never valued herself. But Cassian does. He sees it in her. Value. She has always seen it in him.

Cassian values her. Respects her. Honors her.

Herself, Nesta, who is Death and Ruin and Fire and the darkest, most unknown deep of the Ocean. Who feels, has emotion and _humanity_ so instilled into her it batters her with every breath of injustice and neglect she’s held onto.

Nesta bleeds for him. For his story, his pain and character. For the extraordinary person he is. Because Cassian believed his paininsignificant– _himself._

Cassian… his eyes hold the most heart-rending compassion. One of his chief traits. That heart of his too large, too inclusive, to keep from caring so much.

And he sees her. Sees the pain she has for him.

He doesn’t mistake it for pity or an accusation of weakness. He knows she does not see him as anything less than he is. Knows what it is like to care for someone so much that their pain is your own. Knows that Nesta feels it now.

He looks at her like he is feeling the same for a girl abandoned by her father in a winter-clad shack— for a woman who forgave him, who mourned him. 

They are both healing. They are both broken and mended countless ways.

Nesta is learning all the time– about everything. About the world, about herself, about her sisters and her… friends. Family. About how to _be_ those things.

Everything is new, everything teaches her something now, and that scares and excites her in turns. Overwhelms her often and in the best and worst of ways.

And, Cassian.

This big, fae-male brute.

Cassian is the same. Wonderful and terrifying. He is a newness that she wants to experience. He moves her just like child-dreams of exploring her little, human world once did.

Cassian feels like an entire lifetime of secrets and stories and feelings. Sights and sounds and laughter and inevitable fights.

He feels like an adventure.

She laughs, cupping his face in a hand, brushing the stubble on his cheek with her thumb.

She should have _known_ whole worlds can dwell within people. Or, perhaps she did. After all, just how many galaxies exist under her own skin? 

Nesta is no longer afraid of losing herself in him. To him. 

“I love you,” Nesta tells him and his face goes comically slack. “I’m telling you so you can stop worrying about it and finally tell me yourself.”

He barks a laugh, full bodied and the volume jolts her, just a little. He has always moved her when she least expects it.

“ _Nesta,”_ he says, voice gravelly.

It takes her back to that day in her old world, father’s house– the one that’s split in two, now, (and isn’t that just metaphorical?)– and her heart speeds as she remembers the new feeling of intoxication that Cassian always brings. The confusion and barbed words exchanged.

She remembers, because it’s a memory now. Things have changed. They have changed. Grown.

He’s not so presumptuous and insufferable as he was then. And she is not as muffled, restrained or _angry_ as she was. They’re freer, now. 

Still pigheaded, though.

“ _Nesta. Nesta._ ” She closes her eyes at the vibrations of her name, the reverence in his voice. The press of his lips on her forehead. “You are euphoric.”

She smiles; he chuckles and sighs softly. He kisses her cheekbone, then the other.

“And how I do love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys like it! Let me know if things felt out of character too much? Any suggestions on how to improve their dynamic would be SO HELPFUL. They're a hard pairing to get right, and I want to get them right. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, and keyboard smashes are all valued and appreciated!!


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